


An Ex-Raven

by Afrokot



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Humour, References to Monty Python
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afrokot/pseuds/Afrokot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malika accidentally shot Leliana's favourite raven. Leliana isn't happy.<br/>A Monty Python crossover, written for <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62290229#t62290229">this prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ex-Raven

It was an accident, honestly. The result of a stupid remark that Malika just couldn’t have left alone. It all started with Dorian’s offhand comment. They were fighting a bunch of Venatori that had stumbled upon their group on the Imperial Highway. _Idiots, the whole lot of them._

“Woo-hoo! Take that, you shite! Bull’s eye!” Sera made a rude gesture at the now dead mage, an arrow protruding from his eye socket, and chortled. “Get it? _Bull’s eye!”_

Dorian sighed. “Yes, Sera, we get it.”

“Nice shot,” Malika said. Her own went higher than she wanted and instead of piercing the throat, bounced off a mage’s staff. She cursed. At least, it had disrupted whatever spell he was muttering. _And the evil bastard have the audacity to glare!_

“Thanks, Tadwinks.” Sera let another arrow fly. It hit Malika’s target right where hers couldn’t. The mage fell to the ground, stupidly clutching at his throat and gargling blood. “Eat shit!”

Malika snorted, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. She chose another target, a warrior in plate mail who was perilously close to flanking Blackwall, took aim—

“Snuffed it!” Sera sing-songed as the warrior stumbled, a new accessory in his helmet.

Malika bit her lip and hissed at the flare of pain. She took aim again, at a rogue that was sneaking through the bushes, and glanced at Sera. That was a mistake. Sera was grinning, her face glowing with exhilaration, her eyes sparkling. Malika’s mouth turned dry. An invisible hand seized her heart and _squeezed_. She turned away, focusing on the shot, inhaled, held her breath for a second, and released the arrow on the exhale, just as the image of Sera’s grin popped up in her mind. The arrow sailed overhead, thunking into a tree, a yard to the right of the intended target. Malika stared at it, uncomprehending. The last time she missed by such a margin happened when she first started learning to hold a bow, decades ago.

Dorian, who happened to look her way, followed her line of sight and smirked. “Having performance issues, Inquisitor?”

Sera snickered, and Malika muttered a half-hearted, “Ha-ha,” flipping Dorian off and feeling as if she was set aflame. That wasn’t a fun feeling. She had had an unfortunate experience with… well, it didn’t matter anymore. Thank ancestors for healing magic and elfroot potions. Banishing unpleasant stray thoughts and painful memories alike, Malika went back to fighting, but not before noticing the look Sera gave her, like she’d sprouted a second head or a third eye. Miraculously, her next shot went right, and that would be that, expect, Malika wasn’t called the best archer of the Carta for nothing. To put it bluntly, this was an embarrassment of epic proportions, and in front of the person she was trying to impress really damn hard, no less. Being seen as incompetent stung with an unexpectedly sharp bitterness.

They dealt with the rest of Venatori in short order. Her people, no matter whom Malika took with her, were awesome fighters. With Sera raining arrows, Dorian cursing enemies into oblivion, and Blackwall bashing their brains out, it never took long to see them dead. And so, after looting the corpses for valuable possessions and correspondence, their small group went on the merry way back to the home base.

An hour of riding at an easy pace later, Malika slowed her pony down even more and sidled up to Sera.

“An archery contest,” she said. It came out abrupt and out of nowhere, and not at all how she wanted it to.

Sera blinked. “What?”

Clearing her throat, Malika tried again. “I want us to have an archery contest.” _There!_

“That’s what you’ve been brooding about?”

“Not brooding,” Malika corrected. “Thinking.”

“Mm. If you say so.”

Malika nodded. “I do. So, want to shoot things for fun with me?”

“Sure, why not.” Sera shrugged. “Could be fun, yeah?”

Blackwall, riding ahead but clearly listening to the exchange, twisted in the saddle to look at them. “But you already have one at Skyhold. It’s on Saturdays with Sister Leliana presiding.”

“Prewhat’sit?”

“She is the one in charge.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right, she is.” Sera smirked.

Looking at that smirk, Malika’s mind came up with a dozen things and situations both Leliana and Sera could be in charge of. _Completely different_ things and situations. “No, I want it to be private,” she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Just between the two of us.”

“Oh, _private,_ ” Dorian drawled, slowing down, too. “You, southerners, and your strange rituals…”

Sera’s eyebrows went up. “What rituals?”

Not giving Dorian a chance to reply, Malika hastened to shift the topic of conversation away from the dangerous ground. “Moving on!” It came out too loudly, and she felt her blush worsening. Internally cursing her complexion, Malika soldiered on. “Let’s say, we choose a bird each and shoot it from horseback. Ponyback. Whatever.”

Sera smiled, causing Malika’s heart to do a somersault and miss a beat. “Fine. I get to choose yours, yeah?” she said, oblivious to Malika’s mad palpitation.

Receiving a nod in confirmation, Sera stared at the sky. Lazy clouds drifted across the light blue expanse. The sun, still high up but getting close to the mountain peaks, shone with a merry intensity of early summer. A flock of sparrows flew up from the copse of evergreens to the left of the road, too close to be of any challenge. Sera hummed and tapped her lips with a finger. A single black dot appeared from the trees, moving rapidly in roughly the same direction as they were going, and she squinted. _Yeah._ “Get… that one!” she said, pointing at it.

“That’s what, four hundred yards? Five?” That was pushing it, but Malika wasn’t about to admit that. Not with the phrase ‘performing issues’ hanging over her head like a blighted cloud. “Pff. Easy!”

She took her time lining up the shot, calculating the distance and speed, compensating for the wind and movement. It wouldn’t do to embarrass herself _now_. She blocked everything else out, narrowing her focus to a single point. The world slowed down, and between one heartbeat and the next, Malika released the arrow. It sailed true, hitting the bird just as she planned. The bird flailed once, twice, spiralled down in a broken attempt to fly, and, finally, fell to the ground.

“Yes!” Malika shouted, standing in the stirrups, a grin on her face. Sera whistled, eyes wide.

“Impressive!” she said, smiling, and Malika felt as if the ancestors handed her the keys to the world and the cure for the Blight sickness on a silver platter.

“What now?” Dorian asked, sounding uninterested, but Malika knew better: his gaze had followed the bird avidly, and even now he glanced to where it had landed.

“Now we dismount and tally the paces,” Blackwall replied.

“What? No, I refuse!..” Stopping her pony and jumping down, Malika tuned out Dorian’s protest and started counting, confident that nothing could spoil her mood. That confidence didn’t last long. Her world came crashing down as soon as she saw her catch.

_“Oh, fuck.”_

“It’s Sister Leliana’s raven,” Blackwall said, picking the bird by a wing and turning it around.

“What gave it away?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “The ring on its leg, or the parchment tube dangling from it?”

Blackwall gave him an unimpressed look. “It has a black stripe under the beak, see?”

“Stupid bird. Stupid name,” Sera muttered, tugging at a short strand of hair just behind her right ear. “ _Baron Plucky,_ innit?”

It was, indeed, Leliana’s favourite bird, Baron Plucky.

“Dorian,” Malika said, watching the raven’s head flop with lifeless heaviness, “can you make it not dead?”

Dorian sighed. It sounded so weary as if he heard this exact question on a regular basis and had already reached today’s quota of ignorance from the unwashed masses. “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that. I can reanimate it by inviting a spirit to possess it, for a short time, but anyone with two brain cells to rub together will be able to see the difference.”

“Leliana won’t be happy,” Blackwall pointed out the obvious.

Malika cursed. She was so done for.

**_Three days later, back at Skyhold._ **

“Inquisitor.” Leliana’s voice rang with steel. If she could, she would be throwing bolts of lightning out of her eyes. In her arms was a large cage, and in it —

Malika took a step back, her shoulders hitting the shelves, right where two hardwood bookcases met, and gulped.

“Might I ask you what this is?” Leliana said. Her entire demeanour was serene, voice polite as ever, and even the way she was holding the cage was relaxed enough. It failed to reassure Malika spectacularly.

Perhaps, coming so close to Nightingale’s domain wasn’t the smartest thing to do, Malika reflected, tightening her grip on _Hard in Hightown 2: Siege Harder_ , but… She had waited for it for months! The book was delivered here right from the print this very morning, she was told, and the smell of fresh ink supported that statement. If she came out of this situation alive, she would kill Varric for not providing her with a copy, Malika decided.

She looked at Leliana blankly. “A raven?”

Leliana nodded. “I can see that it’s a raven. I can even see that it’s _my_ raven.”

Malika widened her eyes and blinked. “All right?”

“No, it’s not all right. It is, in fact, far from all right.”

“Not all right, then. What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wro—?!” Leliana’s veneer of calm cracked. Her voice gained a hard undertone. “Baron Plucky is dead, Inquisitor.”

Malika shook her head in vehement denial, her thoughts whirling. “No, he is not.” She shouldn’t have allowed Leliana to corner her in a secluded alcove where Nightingale could murder her without any witnesses. Then again, seclusion was rather hard to avoid in a library made of nooks and crannies. “He is just resting.”

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said, visibly taken aback by the blatant lie. “I know a dead raven when I see one, and this one is definitely dead.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s sitting on his perch; hence, he is alive.” Slowly, Malika edged along the shelves. One, two, three steps… If only she could make things explode with her mind! That would be an excellent distraction.

Leliana’s long, tapered fingers turned into claws. Her knuckles lost all colour. “Fine. If he is resting, then let’s wake him up.” She shook the cage none too gently, and the raven fell to the floor like a rock — the wire holding him upright was not meant to withstand rough treatment.

“He is just tired after a long flight is all, and look” — Malika pointed at the bird with exaggerated excitement, cold sweat gathering at the base of her spine — “he’s just moved!”

“No, he didn’t,” Leliana said through gritted teeth. “I know it was you who killed him because only you would put him here. Why do you persist on denying it?”

“Because he is… He is just stunned.”

“Stunned,” Leliana repeated with apparent incredulity.

“Yeah, Solas or Dorian must have been practising spells while he was flying in through the hatch in the roof, and a stray stunner hit him.”

“That’s just…” Leliana shook her head, sending a strand of red hair flying across her face. “How did he get into the cage, then, if he was _stunned while flying in?_ ” The last part of that sentence contained enough sarcasm to drown a bronto.

Five steps. That was the distance that separated Malika from a more-or-less populated area. There, she could vault over the railings, beg Solas to quickly heal any broken bones she would get after the fall, and dash into the main hall. Then, she’d go into the kitchen to collect the essentials for survival and hole up in the abandoned office slash private library nearby. Nobody would ever look for her there. Malika shifted _Siege Harder_ under her arm, preparing to make a run for freedom at any moment. If only Leliana stopped watching her like Varric watched Hawke.

“He… fell into it? Look, he clearly isn’t dead. Ask Dorian. He’s the expert!”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Fine, let us do that.” She clasped Malika’s arm and strolled down the narrow aisle. Obediently, Malika trailed behind her, all hopes of a swift escape crashed by the iron hold Leliana had on her.

They found Dorian lounging in his usual chair, a large tome lying open on his lap. The yellowed parchment looked so brittle that Malika didn’t want to go near it — let alone touch it — lest it crumble into dust in her hands. If someone damaged a book, the rumour mill said, Dorian would kill the offender, raise his corpse, and do unspeakable things to it. Or maybe it was ‘make it do unspeakable things’ instead, but either way, Malika couldn’t afford having two enraged members of her inner circle hunting after her head.

“Dorian, we need your expertise. Tell me, is Baron Plucky dead?” Leliana thrust the cage in his face rather violently. To his credit, the mage didn’t recoil. He raised his eyebrows.

“Good day, Leliana, Inquisitor.” Dorian nodded at each of them in turn and proceeded to carry both sides of the dialogue. “How are you doing? Quite well, thank you. And you? Oh, not so much. Would you mind helping us? Why, of course, not, Leliana. It is no bother at all. What seems to be the problem?” Tilting his chin up, Dorian stared at Leliana, waiting for an answer.

“The problem,” Leliana said, stressing the word, “is that Baron Plucky looks dead to me, and Inquisitor” — Malika’s title sounded like an insult, but she graciously let it slide — “insist that he is not.”

“I see.” Dorian’s chin went down. “Hm…” Not touching the cage that was hovering inches from his nose, Dorian studied the raven with some curiosity, turning his head to the right, then to the left, and squinting. Finally, he made his verdict.

“This raven isn’t dead. It is simply pining for the Fjords.”

“ _Pining for—?!”_ The skin under Leliana’s left eye twitched. “What does that ever mean?!”

“Yeah,” Malika said, nodding, “it’s definitely pining. Ravens are prone to pining, I hear, and like napping on their backs, like this one does now. Remarkable birds, aren’t they? Lovely plumage.”

Leliana’s face was slowly gaining an alarming shade of red. “This. Is. Ridiculous.” She took a deep breath, her fingers spasming on the bars. “There is an arrowhead lodged in his chest.”

Involuntary, both Malika and Dorian glanced at it.

 _Of course, it’s there. We couldn’t pull it out without damaging his chest even more,_ Malika thought in mild irritation. She tried, but it had stuck for good.

As if hearing her thoughts, Leliana pinned her down with a heavy glare. “This raven is dead. He is no more. He has passed on and gone to the Maker’s side. Just admit it, and we will move on, too.”

Malika suddenly felt very lucky she had manoeuvred to stand with her back to the aisle. Solas _would_ heal her broken bones, surely. “Move where?”

“To the repercussions of your actions, Inquisitor,” Leliana ground out, her eyes bright with manic glee.

Taking a step back, Malika glanced around. “What’s that?” She cupped her ear and frowned. “You hear that?”

“No, Inquisitor, I don’t hear anything.” Leliana turned to her fully, moving the cage away from Dorian’s face. He sighed with relief. The smell of balsamic solution was _pungent_.

“There!” Malika pointed a finger up, taking another small step. “That’s the sound of people in distress calling for help! I gotta go, help them out!” Quick as a snake, she darted out of the alcove, and, barely avoiding collision with two enormous legs, bolted toward the stairs.

“Hi, Bull, bye, Bull!”

“Boss!”

“Get back here, Inquisitor!” Leliana’s voice soared after her. “We haven’t finished!“

“So sorry to dash!” Malika shouted, not even thinking of stopping. “Maidens to do, places to see, you understand.” Maybe in a couple of days, Leliana would forget about it, and in the meantime, she had a book to devour.


End file.
